


rest easy

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cock Rings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Sub Stiles, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stiles’ brain won’t let him sleep. Derek needs to meet a deadline. They make it work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lol at me writing a fic without anyone getting beaten up or killed, 2016 really is a year of change

Stiles paces across the living room floor, running his hands through his already mussed hair. His dad and Melissa are getting married tomorrow, and there are so many things that could go wrong — the flowers might be late, the food might spoil, Stiles and Derek might oversleep, the band’s transportation might break down, an angry spirit might possess the minister, his dad might panic and bail—

“Stiles,” says Derek from the doorway, rubbing his forehead, “You need to go to bed.”

“Oh, God,” Stiles says, spinning around, “I’m distracting you. You’ve got your big deadline and I’m gonna make you miss it. Perfect. Icing on the cake.” He sits down on the couch and rests his face in his hands, rubbing his itching eyes. “This is step one of the disaster, the beginning of the end, goddamn.”

A breath of a laugh comes from Derek’s direction, and he comes over and squeezes the back of Stiles’ neck. “It’s gonna be fine, Stiles.”

Stiles groans. “But there are so, so, so many things that can go wrong.”

“And if any of those things happen we’ll handle it like we always do. Come on.” Derek tugs him up and gestures toward their bedroom. “I have an idea that’ll shut your brain off and let me finish my book all at once, alright?” He says it with a secretive grin, and, stressed as Stiles is, after four years of that grin leading to amazing orgasms, how can he possibly say no to that?

Derek leads him into the bedroom and directs Stiles to undress and sit on the bed. Curious and warm with anticipation, Stiles watches Derek break out the blindfold - a simple, contoured thing, thick enough to keep out all light but not so heavy as to feel suffocating against Stiles’ skin. “So it’s that kind of night, huh,” Stiles observes with a wry quirk of his lips, a certain calmness settling into his bones at the sight. “I thought you had work to do.”

“I do,” says Derek with a smile. Velcro crackles as he blindfolds Stiles, and Stiles inhales at the sudden darkness, ears focused on the slight sounds of Derek’s shifting clothes.

“Lie down,” says Derek, so Stiles scoots backwards, feeling around behind him for the pillows at the head of the bed. He listens to the sounds of Derek rummaging around in their play chest at the end of the bed, then a pause, then Derek’s footsteps padding around the bed to Stiles’ head. Supple leather closes arounds Stiles’ wrists, and Derek pulls his hands upward, locking the handcuffs to the headboard. Stiles tugs on them. He’s got plenty of give, and a comfortable bend in his elbows.

“This is nice,” he says. “Relaxing.”

A cap snaps open.

“Is that lube?” No answer. “That’s lube, isn’t it.”

Derek snorts and spreads Stiles’ legs. “Hold still,” he says, circling Stiles’ hole with a cold, slick finger.

Stiles twitches, muscles tightening. “Oh, jeez, cold, okay, thanks for the warn—“ Derek pushes his index finger inside, and Stiles’ breath shudders out in a quick exhale.

“Hush,” says Derek, finger working in and out, circling around. “Just let me take care of you.” Stiles makes himself relax, and Derek nudges a second finger in. “Alright, Stiles?”

Derek nudges Stiles’ prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through him, and Stiles nods, breath quickening. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Alright.”

Derek rubs his prostate, making Stiles’ hips twitch. “Good boy,” says Derek, tone an odd combination of satisfied and brusque. He opens Stiles up with brief, perfunctory motions, avoiding Stiles’ prostate and slipping a third finger in with little delay.

Stiles can’t help but try to shove himself down on those fingers, aching for more. “Derek, Derek, come on,” he says, and groans in frustration when Derek pulls his fingers out, leaving Stiles empty and wanting, neglected dick at half-mast and getting harder by the second.

“I knew we’d end up needing this,” Derek says ruefully, the bed shifting as he reaches for something. “Open up.” He taps Stiles lips. “I won’t be able to work with you babbling away next to me.”

“Babbling away—?” Stiles begins to ask, but stops when rubber presses against his lips. The pecker gag, he thinks it is.

“Color?” asks Derek.

“Green,” Stiles says, and Derek slides the gag in. It fills Stiles’ mouth, a solid weight that he can’t help but suck on.

Derek shifts away from his face, and Stiles listens as he snaps open the lube again. Silence for a long, terrible moment, and then thick, sturdy silicone presses against Stiles’ hole.

“Easy,” murmurs Derek, rubbing Stiles thigh with his free hand, and Stiles forces himself to relax. The head of the silicone nudges insistently at his hole, pressing in with a slight burning stretch, long and ridged. He’s not sure what it is at first — it’s not wide enough to be a plug, but he doesn’t remember any of their dildos having such an odd curve — he gasps as it finally slides in, the large end of it pressing right against his prostate.

He bucks when Derek closes his lube-slick hand over his neglected dick, sending shocks of sensation rushing through him. Derek circles his thumb over the slit, coaxing Stiles to full stiffness, and Stiles groans around the gag, hips bucking up into Derek’s grip.

Of course that’s the moment Derek chooses to pull his hand away. Stiles groans in frustration and knocks his head back against the pillow, rocking his hips up into empty space. Derek reaches for something again, and this time when he touches Stiles’ dick again it’s to slide a thick cock ring over it. Stiles stares into the darkness of the blindfold — how was this supposed to help him sleep again?

It’s not the cock ring they usually use, he realizes. This one’s got an additional heaviness to it that presses against his dick, and Stiles stiffens when he realizes what that means. Oh no.

Derek walks into the bathroom and washes his hands, leaving Stiles tense and waiting for a long minute, and then he comes back and sits next to Stiles, taking his time settling down, his right leg resting on top of Stiles’ stretched out left leg…. And he starts typing, his fingers across the keyboard of his laptop clack-clack-clacking away. Stiles turns his face toward Derek and makes a noise of affront — he’s stuffed full and he’s got a stiff dick and this is absolutely _not_ helping him sleep!

Derek snorts and runs a hand through Stiles’ hair, and Stiles can’t help but push into it. “Try not to make too much noise. I’ve really got to get this done,” Derek says, taking his hand away.

The soft click of a button — the prostate massager in Stiles’ ass whirs to life. He jerks like he’s been punched, “Holy shit,” he tries to say, but instead it comes out as more of a “Mrr haa aaah” around the gag. He rocks back into the steady rumble. Heat builds in his groin, low and insistent, and not enough. He groans.

Derek rests his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Stay still for the next minute, and I’ll increase the speed. But you have to stay still. Not even a twitch.”

Stiles inhales deeply, forcing himself to still, to let the heat burning in his groin roll through him. He counts in his head. One, two, three, four…. There’s a circular rhythm to the pulses of the massager, a slightly stronger press against that terrible little bundle of nerves every five pulses. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two — the heat builds, his body tenses, his muscles tremble as he tries to hold himself still but it’s too much, too much—

Derek stops typing, and Stiles doesn’t _know_ if he’s watching, but he feels like Derek could be, so he holds himself steady. Forty-seven, forty-eight, he’s so close, holy shit, and oh, how the possibility of Derek’s attention weighs on him.

The prostate massager speeds up, and Stiles groans and rolls his hips in a futile intent to fuck himself on it. He tugs on the cuffs, dick leaking pre-cum onto his stomach.

“I didn’t say you could move, Stiles,” Derek says cooly, and Stiles freezes. Fuck.

The soft click of a button, and this time it’s the cock ring that buzzes to life. Stiles cries out around the gag, his dick twitching, arousal washing over him.

“ _Noise_ , Stiles,” Derek says curtly, sternly, like he’s disappointed. Stiles hears the button click again, and the vibrator speeds up.

Derek goes back to typing, and it’s _so_ much. It’s too much. He doesn’t know if he can take this for much longer, but he _has_  to. Turning away from Derek, he presses his face into his shoulder, holding back a whimper. The gag presses deeper into his mouth, not quite touching the back of his throat, and he bites down on it in a futile attempt to stifle the coiling heat running through him. It doesn’t help much. His dick twitches again, pre-cum sliding down it, a torturous sensation that wrenches a sob out of him.

Derek tilts his chin back towards him and traces Stiles’ lips around the gag. “You’re doing so well,” he says, voice warm and intent. Half-gone, Stiles nuzzles into his hand, desperate for any distraction.

The prostate massager speeds up, and Stiles _screams_.

Derek pets his hair and scratches his scalp. “Shh, shh, you can take it, Stiles. You can take it. I know you can. I’ll let you come after five minutes — if you behave, okay?”

Tears prickle at the corners of Stiles’ eyes, soaking into the blindfold. He nods, and Derek pulls his hand away and keeps typing.

The prostate massager goes and goes and goes, relentless and inescapable, and the vibrating cock ring keeps him rigid and swollen. All through it he keeps himself locked in place, shivering with effort, seeing spots in his non-vision. Pleasure ripples through him, the world narrowing and blurring, Derek a solid weight at his side.

He thinks he might die like this. His muscles cramp with the sustained effort of keeping still, and he rides on the brink of orgasm, the off-beat pulses of the vibrator and the prostate massager settling into his bones.

He can feel the movement of his hips building, feel the frustration peaking, feels the muscles of his hips _try_ to spring, but he knows he’s supposed to stay still. Derek _told_ him to stay still.

He staves off the jerk of his hips, a shock rushing through his burning muscles, and something…. something _snaps_. He untenses, body going lax and warm and hazy, overrun by a sudden acceptance, his ass only flexing in slow, tiny little increments around the toy in it. Pleasure rolls through him, raw and pure like it’s a fundamental part of him, like he could stay like this forever if that was what Derek wanted.

Derek brushes his hair away from his sweaty forehead. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he says, and Stiles hums softly, hips flexing. “Are you ready to come?”

Stiles hums again, not really taking in his words, just happy to hear his voice. He hears an amused little laugh from Derek, then, “Alright. I think we can call this a success.”

Derek’s fingers curl around the base of Stiles’ dick, making him moan and thrust lazily, easing the vibrating cock ring off Stiles. Stiles groans at the loss, only for that groan to turn into a whine when Derek wraps a hand around his dick, vibrator still in hand, and gives him a slow tug.

Another tug, and Stiles spills all over himself with a bone-deep shudder and a gasp, white-hot heat surging through him.

Derek pets him through it, extending it for as long as he can until Stiles becomes too sensitive and twitches away. He floats there in Derek’s loose hold, the prostate massager still going. It makes him whimper helplessly, tugging weakly on his handcuffs before he remembers they’re still there.

Derek shushes him and turns off the prostate massager, and Stiles breathes easy, long and deep with satisfaction, hanging in the moment. Through his haze, he dimly registers Derek uncuffing him and easing the prostate massager out of him. Vague movement, and then Derek’s taking off the gag and blindfold and wiping him down and covering him up with the blanket.

Derek sits back down beside him, clacking away at the keyboard again, and Stiles curls into him, pressing his head against Derek’s thigh. He dozes off, warm and cozy and gone, mind blissfully blank, until some undeterminable time later Derek’s turning off the lights and lying down beside him.

“You finish in time?” Stiles slurs.

Derek gathers Stiles up and presses their foreheads together. “Yeah. You helped a lot, thanks.”

Even through his sleepy haze Stiles doesn’t believe him. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek says with a grin in his voice. “All I had left to write was the sex scene.”

Stiles snorts. “Always happy to help.” He presses a soft kiss to Derek’s lips. “G’night.”

“Night, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, please let me know


End file.
